Black Ops Bodyguard. Donna Young

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СКАЧАТЬ to the British Parliament, and possibly, was on the fast track to being Prime Minister of England.

      If the political rumors were correct.

      “You must have been out of the country for quite a while then.” When Cal glanced up at her, she shrugged, then took the bear from him. “They found out the sex a long time back. Regina’s due in a month.”

      Car tires screeched, vibrating the steel beams and concrete of the upper parking levels.

      Cal frowned; their position in the garage left them too exposed. “We’ll finish this conversation in private.” He grabbed his suitcase and shut the trunk. “Where’s your car?”

      “I took a cab here, then came up through the back stairs.” When he took her elbow, she fell into step beside him. Just three inches short of six feet, her long legs kept stride easily with his. “I still have the stair key you gave me.”

      “Why didn’t you wait for me in the apartment then? I gave you that key also.”

      “Actually, it’s sitting at the bottom of the Potomac. Where I threw it.”

      Cal glanced up, but let the comment pass. “Any reason why you’re using the back door?”

      “Seemed to fit with the cloak-and-dagger theme you’ve managed to surround yourself with lately,” Julia commented. “Besides, it wouldn’t do for me to be seen going or coming from your apartment.”

      “I remember a time when it didn’t bother you.”

      “There was a time it didn’t,” she responded quietly. “But things change.”

      “Julia,” he said slowly, not liking how easily the name rolled off his tongue. Too intimate. Too many memories.

      Ones that set his blood on fire and his protective mode into overdrive.

      “What makes you so sure Jason isn’t dead?”

      “Someone left his file on my coffee table,” she responded. “Inside were documented letters from President Mercer and Ernest Becenti disavowing any knowledge of Jason.”

      Cal stopped midstep. His hand tightened and turned her back into him. “How in the hell did they get into your apartment?”

      “You don’t have to yell, I’m standing here in front of you.”

      “Answer the question,” Cal ordered, but his voice lowered a few decibels.

      “How should I know? My security system was intact.” Her eyes flashed with temper. Just enough to warn him of the anger, simmering beneath the surface. “I’m not the enemy here, Cal.” She tugged against his hold. “And you’re hurting me.”

      Cal loosened his grip, but didn’t release her. Not yet. Not before she was safe in his apartment. “What did the police say?”

      “I didn’t call them.”

      “Bloody hell.” Cal swung open the stairway door, checked the hallway for any movement, then pulled her through after him.

      “I didn’t have proof. And I wasn’t about to share Jason’s dossier with the police.”

      Fear twisted his guts into a rigid knot. He’d walked away from her for this very reason.

      Cain MacAlister, the current director of Labyrinth, had promised to keep Julia under surveillance. What the hell happened? “And you’re sure the letters are legitimate?”

      “Yes. I’m sure.” This time she didn’t mask her impatience. “I also understand the reason for it, but I don’t have to accept their decision.”

      “As a government operative, Jason understood the risks that go with the job. He accepted them every time he took an assignment,” Cal stated.

      “Don’t talk about him in the past tense, Cal. He’s not dead.”

      They reached the lobby’s elevator and she hit the call button. “The intruder left a picture with the file. He’s holding an American newspaper. Yesterday’s newspaper with the current headlines and the date.”

      “That doesn’t prove anything.” The elevator slid open and both of them stepped in.

      “Drug cartels are not forgiving, Julia, when they find a government agent among them,” Cal remarked. He jabbed the button for his floor. “A child can digitally change the face of a newspaper with the right computer program.”

      At least that wasn’t a lie. And if his intel was correct, they were dealing with one of the most powerful drug cartel lords: Cristo Delgado.

      Delgado took pleasure in what he called “public relations.” Many who died by his hand, did so slowly and on camera. Later, Delgado arranged for the footage to be circulated over the internet to discourage anyone else from trying to infiltrate his business.

      Cain MacAlister’s people could not find any footage on Jason.

      The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out into the private entry of Cal’s loft.

      Julia hugged the teddy bear to her chest. Something sharp—a yearning—jabbed at her gut.

      Grimly, Cal reached for his keys. “Hold on.” He opened the door and stepped inside for a moment.

      Julia stood in the doorway, familiar with the procedure as he turned on lights and punched in the security code on a wall keypad.

      A scant minute later, he returned from checking the rooms.

      “Expecting company?”

      “You showed up, didn’t you?” Cal quipped, then took the bear and set it down with his bag. “Just making sure no one else felt the need to find me tonight.”

      The light gave Julia a chance to study Cal. Just over six feet, she had to tilt her head back to get a good look at his face. He had light brown hair, worn a tad longer than what was expected on the Hill. The small brown locks curled over the collar of his white dress shirt.

      He was lean, but not lanky. More solid, sculpted. Almost as if he was modeled from the Greek statues at the Smithsonian.

      Muscles flexed, then shifted beneath the charcoal suit coat, hinting at the controlled movement beneath.

      Longing twisted deep in her belly. Refusing to be distracted, she locked her spine straight and brought her eyes back to his features.

      His hazel eyes, unflinching, seared hers.

      Julia broke contact first. She glanced around the apartment.

      The first time Cal had brought her here, she’d expected sleek, streamlined decor and was mildly surprised at the cozy tapestry pillows, the tapered walnut coffee table and oversize chairs that flanked a sand-colored leather couch. Overstuffed and fairly new.

      English country.

      A touch of home, she’d thought at the time, surprised at the sentimentality from such СКАЧАТЬ